


Make Believe

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Coming of Age, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mention of prescription medication, Threeshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Three snapshots of Alfred and Arthur spending time together in their childhood play place.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

It’s early Spring. There’s a chill in the air, and the grass is cool and wet from last night’s rain. The garden is muddy, but the three boys sequestered in their wooden fortress (a prefabricated two-story treehouse that Arthur’s eldest brother had allegedly won in a game of cards) were unconcerned. The high seas were supposed to be wet and a little cold, anyway.

“Raise the muzzlemast!”

“Aye, aye, captain!”

Two pairs of tan hands went about miming whatever they thought raising the muzzlemast entailed.

“There’s a ship on the horizon! Prepare the cannons!”

Alfred whooped loudly, booted feet slamming down a ladder. He started loading various round objects into a broken laundry bin.

Matthew leaned down to take the basket from him and he climbed back up.

“Good, now—hold on, there’s actually someone there.”

Arthur pulled down his spyglass—an old newspaper that left gray smudges on his face—and pointed toward an approaching figure. The setting sun obscured whoever it was.

“Should we fire?” Alfred asked, lifting his glasses to rub his face with dirty, pudgy hands.

Arthur kneeled down and narrowed his eyes. He could make out a short ponytail and—yes, lapels.

“Battle stations! Fire fire fire!” He shouted eagerly. A faint _“Wait, what?”_ from Matthew was ignored. Arthur and Alfred quickly emptied the basket, lodging foam balls and wadded up paper, most of them landing harmlessly in the yard. A well-aimed rubber ball managed to make contact and the enemy gave an affronted shriek.

“Wait, isn’t that Francis? Wait, hold on—”

“It’s a dirty pirate!”

“I thought we were pirates?”

“Yes, but that’s a dirty one.”

Alfred stroked his chin. He didn’t know why. He’d seen a man stroke his chin once to show he was thinking hard, so Alfred did it too. In the distance, Francis continued to cautiously approach.

“We should capture him. He might have information!”

Arthur grinned as wickedly as a freckled, ten-year-old boy could. “We’ll have to torture it out of him.” Behind them, Matthew groaned a bit.

As Alfred and Arthur hatched a (frankly disturbing) plot, Francis finished his journey and climbed the ladder with a flourish and a dainty sniff. Because Francis was _eleven,_ and he did everything with a flourish and a dainty sniff.

“Hi, Francis.”

“ _Bonjour_ Matthew. _Bonjour, mon petits sauvages_. Are you done?”

Two messy blond heads turned to face a third. Arthur threw a final foam ball at Francis’ crotch. Alfred erupted with glee, slapping his bruised knees.

A flip of the hair. A less than dainty sniff. “ _Well._ I came to invite the twins to my house for dinner. Maman’s book club cancelled, and there’s an entire chocolate cake—”

“Cake?”

“Did you say chocolate?”

The twins shouted over one another. It was the loudest Matthew had been all day.

Francis smirked. Arthur cringed. “ _Oui, chocolat_. So, you’ll come?”

“Sure! Arthur, you come too!” Alfred grinned minus-one-toothily. He yanked on the other boy’s arm, but he didn’t budge. Arthur whipped his hand away, wiping his nose.

“M’not invited.”

“Whaaaaat? ‘Course you are. ‘Course he is, right, Francis?”

Francis shook his head with a frown. “Do you want to come?”

“Not on your life, frog.”

“Good. No English allowed, anyway.” Francis rolled his eyes.

“Technically, Mattie and I are half—”

“Half-English are fine. But _non,_ Arthur will not come. So—be at my house in an hour, _s’il vous plait_. There will be chicken and sausage and pasta, and of course, lots of cake.” He smiled, patting Matthew on the head. “Clean up and meet me there. _Au revoir!”_

He slipped back down the ladder and hurried across the yard, wary of further projectiles. The treehouse was silent, until Matthew stood up, already licking his lips.

“Um, I’m gonna go wash up, then we’ll walk over.” He gave Arthur a worried look. “Sorry, Arthur.” He headed down the ladder.

Arthur wiped his eyes, rolling a cricket ball back and forth. They didn’t use those for ammunition anymore—not since _the incident_.

“Mm, man, chocolate cake. Ooh, I’ll sneak some out for you, okay?” Alfred leaned down, trying to peek at Arthur, but the other boy turned away.

“I don’t want any. You g-go. Eat my share.”

“C’mon. Hey, will they kick you out if you come? We could—”

“I don’t want to g-go!” Arthur snapped. “I don’t like it there. Go and have fun and never come back!” He pushed the other toward the ladder, but Alfred was already bigger than him, even though he wasn’t even ten yet. Arthur couldn’t catch a break.

“Captain’s orders?” Alfred sighed.

Arthur nodded. “King Arthur says so, too.”

Alfred descended the ladder.

The sun had nearly set. It was dark in the treehouse, and the wind blew through the wooden slats as Arthur scribbled in the mud caked onto the floorboards and absolutely did not cry, did not, did not, he was _ten_ and he did _not_ cry—

“Hey, raise the mizzymass! Or, whatever?”

Below the ladder, two arms strained upwards, holding two boxes of Jaffa Cakes. Arthur took them, and Alfred climbed up shortly after, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

“I raided the enemy ship. This was the booty. Heh. Boo-tee. Boooooo—”

“Stop it!” But Arthur was smiling. Alfred lifted the blanket like a wing, and Arthur tucked himself against him. “What about your chocolate cake?”

Alfred shook the Jaffa Cakes at him. “Got chocolate cake right hee-re.” He sang.

Captain Arthur cracked open the treasure chest and stuffed a cake in his mouth. “Yeah, we’ve got chocolate cake right here.”


	2. Chapter 2

Climbing a ladder in suit pants was like, not fun. And maybe Alfred hadn’t been hitting the gym lately, so the suit pants were kind of tight. And maybe he’d borrowed them from Toris, so they were actually way too tight. Francis said his ass looked exquisite, though. So that was something.

He managed to awkwardly get to the upper level of the treehouse without letting his clothes touch the dirty floor, or ripping his pants. Another score. The night couldn’t be better.

Except that prom—or, err, the school disco, as they called it over here—had started half an hour ago and Arthur was nowhere to be found.

“Dude, I’ve been looking all over for you!” Lies. He’d looked in Arthur’s bedroom, and Arthur hadn’t been there, so he’d come here. When Arthur sulked, he was usually in either of those two places, or the library. Alfred was glad he hadn’t been in the library, as Alfred had been banned following _the incident._

Arthur flopped a hand in his direction. “Congratulations. You’ve found me. Carry on now.” He twisted the hand around before flopping it dramatically over his eyes.

He was on his back, still in his fancy dress clothes, though he was lying on a blanket. There was an unopened bottle of something Alfred couldn’t make out by his head.

“Nah. Why aren’t you at the disco? Don’t you wanna boogie down?” Alfred moved closer, legs on either side of Arthur’s hips. He mimicked the _Stayin’ Alive_ move, but Arthur didn’t look. Bummer.

“Sounds like a blast.” Arthur deadpanned.

“Mhm. So let’s go?” Alfred tried to squat, but the pants were too tight. He stayed standing above Arthur like a weirdo. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Arthur scoffed. “The hell it won’t. Nobody wants me there. Why are you here? Where’s your bird?”

“What’s in the bottle?”

Arthur uncovered his eyes to give Alfred A Look. “Ribena. You tit.”

“A tit is also a bird.”

“You’re a birdbrain. Go away.” The arm flopped facewards again.

“Nah.” Alfred managed to snag a corner of blanket, and lowered himself down carefully to sit. “She went off with your cousin Jack like, immediately.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine.

“Don’t be! I didn’t really care that much? I just didn’t want to show up alo—ooh, shouldn’t have said that.” Alfred winced. He picked up the bottle to see if it was really just Ribena. He opened up to see if it was really just Ribena. He sadly realized it was, in fact, really just Ribena.

Arthur laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, _that_ would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

“You could have had a date if you’d wanted, Arthur. Easy. Duh.” He looked around for a shovel, because he might as well get help digging this hole. “I mean, not that that’s—you do you, I’m not saying—”

“It’s not about that. I don’t care about that.”

“Then why are you out here? Orange squash is _so much better_.”

“Have you had your meds today?”

Alfred had not had his meds. They made him bloated. “Yes. Arthur, why don’t you want to go to the dance with me?”

Arthur sat up lightning fast and dug his fist sharply into Alfred’s side. “Bastard! Why do you pretend to be stupid all the time? Go _away_.” He stole the bottle back, throwing back a sip like it was whisky. “Why on earth do you care so bloody much?” He laid back down. “Do you care at all, really? Perhaps you’re just here because your date ditched you.”

Alfred’s fist hit the weathered floorboards hard enough to jar the whole treehouse. “Why do _you_ pretend to be stupid? Did you really just ask me that?”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Alfred thumbed open a couple buttons on his dress shirt, heart hammering. He tried to smooth his hair, but the gel wouldn’t budge.

“That color suits y—”

“You _could_ have had a date. You act like only I know how to play dumb.” Alfred tried to discreetly unbutton his suffocating trousers. He pretended to study his nails when he failed.

Arthur threw his hands into the air with a sputter. _“You’re going back to America!”_

“So? I’m not going back tonight!”

“But you’re going back! Soon, not tonight, but bloody soon, and you’re going to become a hotshot engineer and make a million fucking pounds!” Arthur sounded like he was pleading with him. He sat up again.

“Soooo? You could have come to America with me, too.”

“Don’t be _stupid_! I have to stay here and take care of Peter!”

“Bring Peter to America with you!”

Alfred covered his face with his hands.

“Okay, that was…that was dumb. This is dumb. I know that you…are you laughing?”

Arthur was laughing, little giggly snort laughs that usually only happened when he was drunk or sleepy. “God, we’re ridiculous.” He propped a shaggy head on the back of Alfred’s shoulder. The laughter faded away, and Arthur ground his head against him. “We’re really ridiculous.” He said quietly.

Alfred turned his head. Their faces were close. He grinned. “Do you wanna go to the dance with me, Arthur?”

“No.”

Alfred reared back, and Arthur caught himself with a hand, face sly.

“Art, that was mean! If you didn’t want to go you should have said so already!”

Arthur moved to sit beside him, not meeting his eyes.

“I think we should stay here.”

He managed to cup Alfred’s face with a shaky hand, managed to rub his thumb along his jaw. He managed to lean forward and breathe through his nose and close his eyes. Alfred tasted clean and a little fruity. Arthur would later reflect that this was apt.

“Yeah.” Alfred breathed out, all smiles and rosy cheeks. “We can have fun right here.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Coat, Peter, put on a coat!”

A mischievous giggle. A small boy darted out into the evening sun, his breath visible in the late December air.

Alfred ambled out behind him with a chuckle, catching up to the boy easily with his long strides. “Proper regalia required your Majesty.” He held the coat open with a bow of his head and Peter slipped his arms in without fuss before continuing on toward the treehouse at full tilt.

A winded-sounding Arthur approached with his hands on his hips. “Of course, he listens to you, when he’s barely seen you the past four years.” He sounded a little hurt.

“It’s just the novelty, probably.”

“Nonsense, it’s a crush. His eyes turn into little cartoon hearts whenever he looks at you.” Yes, definitely a little hurt. Alfred laughed and threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

“I can’t believe this thing is still standing!” He gestured toward the treehouse, “Especially considering how rough we were on it!” He was completely guileless.

Arthur’s cheeks colored anyway. He hid his face in his coat—Alfred’s coat, actually, because the man had insisted it was ‘totally not cold’ and was certainly not visibly shivering now. Well, Arthur wasn’t giving his prize up anytime soon regardless. Never mind his own peacoat was just inside the door.

“Alfie, come up, come up! Come look at my toys.” Peter’s face appeared at the top of the ladder, smiling.

Alfred smiled back. “Alright. Arthur, you come too.”

Peter stuck his tongue out at his brother but didn’t argue. Alfred approached the ladder—that, at least, had been replaced recently, and started to climb.

“Careful you don’t break that, love. I believe its max capacity is under 70 kilos.”

Alfred paused his climb to glare at Arthur. “Ouch, Art. It’s the Freshman Fifteen.”

“More like Senior Sixty.”

Alfred ignored him.

“Recent Graduate Gut. Engineer-Big-Fat-Rear.”

Alfred still ignored him. He watched said rear disappear into the treehouse’s second level. So much for flirting. He followed.

* * *

“You’ll never make me taaaa—hehe, tickling is outlawed! I’ll sue!”

Arthur was unrepentant, armed with a feather duster and a plastic tricorne. “There are no laws on the high seas.” He said without intonation, reaching for Alfred’s other foot.

Peter looked up at the two so-called grown men and sighed. He’d grown tired of make-believe nearly an hour ago. “You lot are acting like little kids. Don’t you want to go inside and play Minecraft now, Alfie?” He unleashed all of the power of the Patented Kirkland Puppy Dog Pout, batting eyelashes over wide blue eyes.

“Sure thing, kiddo! Just get your brother to untie me.”

Arthur regarded Alfred’s bound hands. He regarded Peter’s expectant face.

“No.”

A lot of sputtering ensued.

“Okay, Peter, you untie my hands.”

Arthur answered instead. “No.”

“You can’t say _no_. Peter—”

“Peter’s not allowed ‘round knots since _the incident._ Even if he’s trying to untie them. Besides, it’s time for tea. Go get washed up, Peter, and Alfred can play Minecraft with you after.”

Peter groaned and whined, but cleared away his toys dutifully. He gave Alfred a solemn pat on the shoulder before heading down the ladder. The remaining pair waited until they heard the back door open and shut before speaking.

Alfred squirmed, managing to sit up with his hands still tied with a broken jump rope behind his back. “Even a pirate won’t deny a prisoner dinner, right?” He smiled a little uneasily.

“I’ll get you some gruel.”

“Inhumane! Is this because I told you the wrong terminal? I was really sleepy and my glasses were dirty.”

“ _This_ is because you went to America for four years. And now I’ve taken you prisoner s-so you can’t get away again.” Arthur hid behind the feather duster.

Alfred nuzzled him excitedly. “Oh my _God,_ that’s so _cute_.”

“Shut up.” But Arthur leaned into the nuzzling. “Why haven’t you said you missed me yet?”

Alfred looked baffled. “I sent you, like 32 mortifying texts this morning.”

“Not the same!” Arthur walloped him. “For that matter, why haven’t you kissed me yet? Why did it take you so long to come back? Who is that brunette in your latest Instagram post?” Alfred laughed merrily as the feather duster thwacked his chest.

“One problem at a time. I missed you, like, unbelievably.” He dodged a hit, and landed a big wet kiss on Arthur’s nose. “I graduated early but I had to get some money so I can look for a job here. You literally know all of this already. Hi, I’m Alfred F. Jones, did you mistake me with a different boyfriend?” He was joking, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of you and Peter like, a thousand times? Do you really doubt me?”

Arthur shook his head and dove headfirst into the other’s lap. He was twenty-two and he would _not_ cry, he would not, he would not—

“You didn’t say who the brunette was.”

The back door opened again. Someone was running across the yard.

“Alfie, Tino said we could have tea up there!” Peter clambered up the ladder, backpack in tow. He began laying out a blanket and paper plates, oblivious to the two men awkwardly shuffling away from each other. Arthur untied Alfred’s hands, squeezing one of them.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked. A soft voice called from below. “Oh, Tino’s there. Is it a burden? We can come in.”

Tino handed up covered dishes and a bottle of fizzy drink, ensuring them it was okay.

When Arthur turned, Alfred had Peter sitting in his lap and was rubbing the child’s hands together to warm them. “Sounds fun. Ooh, let’s turn that light on.”

The lantern cast the treehouse in a warm glow. With three bodies cramped in the limited space and a blanket over the entrance, it was quite cozy. They ate bangers and mash and carrots and drank the whole bottle of fizzy drink, then played with Legos until Peter fell asleep.

Arthur carded his fingers through the boy’s hair. “I don’t doubt you at all, you know.” He said quietly, his own head lolling onto Alfred’s shoulder. “I suppose I just find it hard to believe. That things worked out. That life could be this good.”

Alfred knocked their heads together, capturing Arthur’s idle hand and kissing each knuckle. “It’ll get a lot better than this, babe. Just you wait.” He winked.

They fell into a comfortable silence, cuddled up in blankets and pillows that Tino had brought from the house.

“We can go in whenever you like.” Arthur said around a yawn. Alfred pulled him closer, adjusting Peter between them.

“We can stay here a little longer. I got everything I need right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake:  
> A shake. A snort. A whisper.  
> “We should go in, Alfred.”  
> Sleepy blue eyes blinked open. He pawed his face for his glasses, which Arthur handed to him. “”M too sleepy. I’m good. Let’s just stay here…”  
> He was already drifting off when Arthur pinched him a bit, shaking his shoulder again for good measure. Luckily Peter was smarter than them both and had already gone inside.   
> “I said we should go in, Alfred.”  
> “But, babe—”  
> “We should go inside. To the bed, Alfred. We should go get in the bed.”  
> Alfred sat up straight with a grin. “Oh. That an order, Captain?”  
> Arthur’s cheeks glowed in the dying light of the lantern. “A royal decree, peasant.”  
> “Hot. Weird, but hot. I’m into it. Want to bring the jump rope?”


End file.
